


Pointless

by AceMoppet



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Victor thinks he's a pencil, Yes you heard that right folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 19:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13371312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceMoppet/pseuds/AceMoppet
Summary: The world likes to think of Victor Nikiforov as a god, a Living Legend.Victor likes to think of himself as a pencil.Or, the one in which Victor is depressed and compares himself to an every day object. Featuring an extended pencil metaphor and angst.





	Pointless

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Yuri On Ice work that doesn't feature Victuuri together 0_o. The idea came to me when I was doing my homework and my pencil broke. Really short, but it was fun to do! I'm getting back into the hang of writing, I think, so stick around for more!

The world likes to think of Victor Nikiforov as a god, a Living Legend. He who can charm people left and right, leaving behind trails of broken hearts. He who can turn up to the rink and, with a flip of his well-coiffed hair, pull a perfectly executed quad flip out of his ass.

 

Victor likes to think of himself as a pencil. An ordinary yellow pencil. 

 

Some days, when he’s feeling particularly fancy, he likes to think of himself as those little mechanical pencils he saw in Japan during the NHK, the ones with the cute little bears and cats all over them.

 

Most days though, he doesn’t feel particularly fancy. Most days, he feels nothing at all.

 

So yes, Victor Nikiforov, Living Legend, and four-time World Champion soon to be five-time World Champion, is most comparable to a regular pencil in his own eyes.

 

It’s not that he has low self esteem. While Victor isn’t arrogant, he knows how good he is; he has to, he’s worked too hard and lost too much to get good, but that’s neither here nor there. 

 

Victor carves lines into the ice like a pencil gliding across smooth paper, and he gives a little bit of himself every single time, just like a pencil losing little shavings of lead to lend to new words. He gives and he gives and he  _ gives _ , and the world keeps screaming for more. More lead lines on paper, more ice shavings covering his skates, more stories, more roles to play and shed like ruined paper. More, more,  _ more. _

 

And Victor does it. He has to, you see? For just like a pencil, if he ever stops, even to take a breath, the erasers will come, and then, there will be no trace of the records he’s spent years making. He’ll be gone, a simple eraser shaving to be blown off a piece of paper, to be thrown away. No, not thrown away, for that implies that there was some thought to his value. He’d be blown away like a nuisance, and he’d fall, fall,  _ fall _ to the floor underneath the desk, never to be remembered again.

 

But Victor is tired. He’s skated and he’s skated and he’s skated and he would like very much to just  _ stop _ , damn the consequences.

 

He won’t though. He knows he won’t stop. He’ll keep skating, and skating, and skating, until he finally breaks.

 

As Victor pants at the end of his free skate at Europeans that year, he wonders if he’ll become useless when he does break. He wonders if he’ll become pointless.


End file.
